


Rain in the Desert

by rhysiana



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (kind of - there is no actual food involved), Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and yet that T rating is completely accurate, incubus!Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana
Summary: As an incubus living in Sin City, Parse should be completely set, right? Wrong.He wasn’t really sure when he’d stopped caring about the games and started focusing on just getting into the arenas so he could feed off the emotional overflow of the crowd, even if only in a sideways and unsatisfactory manner.Well, that wasn’t true. He knew exactly when.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I feel compelled to make Kenny P suffer so much? I honestly don't know. I first wrote about Kent as a possible incubus [here](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com/post/142700372593/parse-the-incubus), but apparently the idea was still with me, because when the 13 Days of Halloween challenge came up, this is where I went. (Written for Day 9: Supernatural Creatures AU.)
> 
> Possible trigger/content warning: Parse is an incubus who is holding himself back from feeding because he's afraid of hurting people, which is a form of disordered eating. There's a happy ending here, but if this is a problem for you, allow me to direct you to [werewolf Kent](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7294267) instead.

The entire arena screamed when Kent’s name was announced and he took the ice. He raised his stick and smiled in acknowledgement. Internally, he was throwing his arms out and tilting his head back to bask in it, to soak it in. Not because he was an attention hog (well, maybe that too), but because he was _hungry_. So hungry. At least all the emotional overflow he could catch in the arena got it back down to reasonable levels.

He wasn’t really sure when he’d stopped caring about the games and started focusing on just getting into the arenas so he could feed, even if only in a sideways and unsatisfactory manner.

Well, that wasn’t true. He knew exactly when.

He mentally shook himself back into focus. By the time the anthem and all the pre-game announcements were done, his ever-present hunger had been forced back far enough that he could play. And he did. Just as well as ever, because hockey was all he had left, so he might as well succeed in at least one area of his life.

***

Press. Automatic, scrupulously polite smile. Rote answers. Shower.

God, some days he really thought about quitting.

But then he remembered he didn’t have anything better to do, so he got on with it.

He was just getting dressed when a hand landed on his shoulder. He forced himself not to lean into it, but he _pulled_ , just a little, before he could stop himself, before the guilt snapped him out of it. He blinked and looked to see who it was. “Stan. Swoops. Hey.”

The other man smiled. It was almost… sympathetic? What was that about? He drew his hand back and leaned against the next stall. “Kent. You going out with us tonight?”

He should. He really should. The image flashed through his mind of dancing, hands brushing against other bodies briefly, fleetingly, just enough for a tiny taste, not enough to matter to any one person in the crowd, but he was so, so tired. _This isn’t sustainable_ , some corner of his brain thought, but if he’d been into self-awareness and good decision-making, he’d never have gotten to this point in his life in the first place.

He was about to open his mouth to make an excuse when Swoops’ arm came fully around his shoulders, body now shielding Kent’s, and he called across the locker room, “Nah, Jeff, Parse and I are going to watch some tape, I had a question about that fuck-up in the second.”

“You guys are lame. Later, captain!” Jeff replied, and the few remaining guys cheerfully piled out of the dressing room.

“What the hell, Thurber?” Kent asked.

Swoops leveled him with a serious stare. “Do you realize you completely zoned out there for about sixty seconds?”

“I, uh…”

“I’m taking you home right now. No arguments.”

Kent let himself be guided through gathering the rest of his stuff and the next thing he knew, he was in Swoops’ car, already halfway to his apartment. He blinked and suddenly realized Swoops was gripping his hand tightly. And Kent was pulling energy from him. Desperately, he tried to stop, tried to yank his hand away, but Swoops wouldn’t let go.

“It’s fine, Kent. It’s fine. Take what you need.”

Kent just stared at him, eyes huge and panicked. “No, no, I can’t.”

“You can. You won’t hurt me. We’re almost there. I’ll explain once we get you home.”

Kent still tried to slow the flow of energy to as small a trickle as he could. This couldn’t happen again. It _couldn’t_. The state he was in now, he would most definitely take too much, and that was a nightmare he refused to relive ever again.

Five minutes later, they pulled into the parking garage under Kent’s building and he coded them into the elevator, mind still spinning. As soon as they got into his apartment, he dropped his bag and whirled around. “What in the hell is going on?” he hissed.

Kit, sensing his distress, stood up from the couch and hissed as well, back arching, eyes practically throwing sparks.

“Nice goblin,” Swoops commented mildly.

“Don’t call her that,” Kent said, still operating on ingrained reflex.

“Well, it’s not like she’s actually a cat, Kent.” Swoops walked over and held out his hand to Kit…who did not actually claw him. Instead, she purred and rubbed her face against his fingers.

“Okay, seriously, what the hell?”

Swoops looked up from Kit, indulgent smile fading. “How long have you been starving yourself?”

“I—what?”

“How. Long. Have you been starving yourself?”

“I don’t know what you me—”

Swoops sighed. “Cut the shit, Kent. You’re an incubus and you’ve clearly been starving yourself for, god, has it actually been years? This whole time? What the hell, man?”

Kent dropped straight down. Fortunately there was a chair behind him.

Swoops walked over and deposited Kit in his lap. His shaking hands came up to pet her automatically, and the repetitive motion and slight energy transfer Kit always gave him soothed him enough to regain his voice.

“How did you know?”

“You’re not the only supernatural creature in this city. Or even on this team,” he noted wryly, gesturing at himself.

“What?” This was not Kent’s most intelligent conversation ever.

“Stan Thurber is a terrible name, but, well. Stenocereus thurberi. Cactus dryad.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. You have been super unobservant.” He let a few spines sprout from his fingers.

Kent swallowed.

Swoops sighed again. “Look, I, of all people, can recognize someone in the midst of a severe drought. You’re not equipped to deal with it. You’re going to do yourself some serious damage if you keep going like this. Will you let me help you? Please? It hurts to look at you.”

“I… yes,” Kent whispered.

“Good. C’mon.”

“C’mon where?”

“Your bedroom. You need to change. And so do I.”

“Ch-change?”

“Oh my fucking god, Kent, you can _not_ be the world’s only modest incubus, I swear.” Swoops grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him down the hall. “Put on sweatpants, basketball shorts, whatever makes you comfortable, I don’t care, but no shirt, because you need skin contact like a hundred-year rain.”

And that was how Kent found himself lying on the couch, stretched full out across Swoops’ chest while Swoops watched his TV and played with his hair. Kit, his (yes, literal) goblin, had curled up in the small of his back, and Kent wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so relaxed. As his eyes drifted closed, he realized he didn’t feel hungry anymore.

He felt content.

When he woke up the next morning, having been moved to his own bed without ever waking up, he found a single pale pink cactus flower on his bedside table, next to a glass of water and a note. _Call me anytime. –ST_

Kent grinned into his pillow. Maybe next time, he’d be in shape to do something more in accordance with his nature.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I have made Swoops into a cactus dryad. How can a desert dryad play a winter sport? Look, I did my research! His [type of cactus](http://www.americansouthwest.net/plants/cacti/stenocereus-thurberi.html) is "able to withstand short cold spells of temperatures no lower than -4°C (25°F)." Hockey ice is typically kept at 24°F and the air temp in the rink is usually around 50-60°F. Hence, Swoops is fine, he just doesn't like to touch the ice with his bare skin and he always bundles up ridiculously when they have to travel to cold places for winter road games. The other guys give him shit about it, but he doesn't care. Modern materials science is amazing.
> 
> Also, Kit is a literal goblin because Kent needed a pet he could snuggle that he wouldn't worry about sucking all the life energy out of by mistake. Because I can make even his cat angsty. I'm sorry.


End file.
